HER  COUNTRY 


MARY  RAYMOND  SHIPMAN  ANDREWS 

Author  of  "The  Perfect  Tribute" 


Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L-l 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamded  below 

JON  181S24 

AUG  2  5  19( 


Form  L-9-5m-7,'22 


BOOKS  BY  MARY  R.  S.  ANDREWS 

PUBLISHED    BT     CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

The  Eternal  Feminine.   Illustrated  net  $1.50 

August  First net  $1.00 

The  Eternal  Masculine.    Illustrated. 

net  $1.50 

The  Militants.    Illustrated".    .    .    net  $1.50 

Bob  and  the  Guides.    Illustrated    net  $1.50 

Her  Country net  .50 

Old  Glory ,   .    .    .    net  .50 

The  Counsel  Assigned net  .50 

The  Courage  of  the  Commonplace  net  .50 

The  Lifted  Bandage net  .50 

The  Perfect  Tribute  ......    net  .50 


HER  COUNTRY 


HER  COUNTRY 

BY 
Mary  Raymond  Shipman  Andrews 


47406 

NEW  YORK 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by  Charles  Scrtimer's  Sons 

Copyright,  1918,  by  the  Butterick  Publishing  Co. 

Published  May,  1918 


HER  COUNTRY 


s'f 


HER  COUNTRY 

OUT  on  the  edge  of  the  city  were 
large  places,  screened  from  the 
road  by  hedges  which  had 
been  fifty,  a  hundred  years  some 
times,  in  the  growing.  Behind  one 
such  lay  a  sunshiny  garden,  lovely 
in  the  June  Sunday  morning.  Down 
the  gravel  of  a  path  a  girl  in  a  white 
frock  walked,  swinging  a  shallow 
basket  in  which  scissors  rattled  from 
side  to  side.  The  girl  kept  a  critical 
eye,  walking,  on  the  wall  of  Dorothy 
Perkins  roses  which,  growing  over  a 
tall  broken  lattice,  separated  the  gar 
den  from  the  grounds  next  door. 

;<  You  adorable  nobodies,  you're  like 
pink  music,"  she  addressed  the  mil- 
[i] 


HER  COUNTRY 

lion  little  blooms,  and  halted,  erect 
and  poised,  glorying  in  flowers  and 
sunlight. 

Two  men  watched  her.  "A  colt," 
spoke  the  older,  smiling  lazily. 

"I  don't  know.  I  like  long,  adoles 
cent  lines.  You  don't  see  them  after 
eighteen.  Honor's  seventeen.  I  like 
her  figure." 

"Figure !  As  much  figure  as  a 
string."  The  older  man  leaned  back 
in  his  wicker  chair  and  gazed  through 
half-closed  lids  at  the  girl,  much  like 
a  tall,  thin  angel  of  Botticelli,  shim 
mering  white  against  shimmering 
pink. 

With  that  she  turned  and  came 
lightly  towards  them  across  the  grass. 
"What  do  you  think?  Is  there  any 
thing  here  fit  to  send  Mclvor?" 

"Why  it's  all  lovely,  Honor — our 
[2] 


HER  COUNTRY 

rose-garden,"  the  boy  said,  looking 
at  her  in  surprise.  "Fit  to  send  him  ! 
Why,  the  Mannering  rose-garden's 
famous.  Has  been  for  a  hundred 
years  —  isn't  it  a  hundred  years, 
father?" 

"Near  enough."  Eric  Mannering, 
the  fifth,  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
cigar  and  considered  the  end  of  it 
with  absorption.  "What's  the  mat 
ter  with  the  roses,  Honor?"  He  was 
half  amused,  half  bored.  "Why  aren't 
they  good  enough  for — Mclvor,  the 
singer." 

"Nothing's  good  enough  for  Mc 
lvor,  the  singer,"  the  girl  shot  at  him, 
quoting  the  half-contemptuous  tone 
as  well  as  the  words.  "The  roses  used 
to  be  wonderful,  of  course.  You  say 
they  were  a  show  when  you  were  a 
youngster.  But — why,  you  know  bet- 

[3] 


HER  COUNTRY 

ter  than  I  do,  dad,  that  roses  are  an 
expensive  accomplishment.  The  fine 
ones  are  run  out;  it's  only  the  hardy 
ordinary  ones  that  live  through  neg 
lect.  They're  sweet  and  adorable, 
but  they're — well,  commonplace." 

Mannering  took  a  puff  at  his  cigar 
and  regarded  his  daughter.  "  Mclvor 
should  not  be  too  fastidious  in  roses. 
His  normal  occupation  was  as  a  mill- 
hand." 

"He's  a  messenger  from  heaven 
now."  The  girl's  wide  eyes  flamed  at 
the  indifferent,  half-open  eyes  of  the 
man.  "He's — he's — "  she  stammered 
with  wrath.  "He's  one  of  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth.  He  has,  perhaps, 
the  most  wonderful  voice  in  the 
world." 

Mannering  laughed  easily.  "Yes? 
Even  that  doesn't  bowl  me  over  en- 

[4] 


HER  COUNTRY 

tirely.  A  professional  musician !  An 
ex-mill-hand !  And  my  daughter 
searches  her  garden  for  flowers 
worthy  of  him !  It  strikes  me  as 
amusing." 

"Don't  badger  the  kid,  father,"  the 
young  man  remonstrated,  and  as  he 
rose  and  walked  a  few  steps,  it  was 
visible  that  he  was  very  lame.  "You 
know  how  keen  she  is  about  music." 

Eric  Mannering  reflected  again 
deeply,  on  the  subject,  apparently, 
of  the  end  of  his  boot.  Quite  at  his 
leisure  he  announced:  "The  Manner- 
ings  have  always  been  fond  of  music. 
And  good  at  it.  But  Honor  is  the  first 
who  has  wanted  to  go  into  the  trade." 

Honor     rippled     young     laughter. 

"Dad,  you  can  be  nasty  when  you 

want    to,"    she    commented,    and 

dropped  on  the  warm  earth  and  sat 

[5] 


HER  COUNTRY 

there,  cross-legged,  like  a  child,  like  a 
faun,  looking  up  at  him  with  laughter 
in  her  gray  eyes.  Her  fair,  loose  hair 
blew  about  her  face.  "Now,  fa 
ther,"  she  admonished  him,  pushing 
a  strand  of  pale  gold  out  of  her  eyes, 
"you've  got  to  be  good.  You've  got 
to  be  guided  by  your  intelligent  chil 
dren,  by  Eric  and  me.  Especially  by 
me.  You  know  that  you're  not  built 
to  fight  the  world.  You're  beautiful, 
and  entrancing  to  talk  to,  and  fin 
ished  and  accomplished  beyond 
words.  But  you  can't  do  a  thing  with 
money  except  squander  it — that's  the 
plain  truth.  And  you've  squandered 
and  squandered,  till  we're  all  in  a 
hole.  We're  in  debt,  and  the  rose- 
garden  isn't  kept  up,  and  the  house 
needs  painting  and  window-shades, 
and  Eric  had  to  sell  mother's  rubies 
[6] 


to  pay  his  way  through  law  school, 
and  now  I've  come  along  with  a  voice 
that  people  say  is  worth  money.  And 
there's  not  ten  cents  to  develop  it. 
And  I  will  develop  it.  I  will  have  my 
chance.  If  my  voice  is  what  Stroble 
says,  two  thousand  now — next  year 
and  the  year  after — would  mean  huge 
sums.  The  real  voices  make — almost 
anything.  A  hundred  thousand  a  year 
— almost  anything !  I  could  do  all  the 
things  that  are  needed — here."  She 
stared  about  at  the  lovely,  neglected 
garden,  at  the  long,  low,  stone  house 
with  its  vague  air  of  lack  of  care.  "It's 
silly  to  hamper  me,  not  to  help  me, 
when  it's  on  the  cards  that  I  could 
make  a  fortune  for  us  all." 

"I  hate  to  hear  you  talk  in  that 
commercial  way,  Honor,"  her  brother 
flashed  at  her.  "You've  a  gift  and 

[7] 


HER  COUNTRY 

you've  a  right  to  want  to  use  it.  But 
to  think  of  art  in  terms  of  money — 
almost  wholly  in  terms  of  money,  as 
you  do  !  It's  degrading.  Also,  I'm  the 
one  to  retrieve  the  family  fortunes. 
I'm  older  and  a  man.  It's  up  to  me. 
Next  year  I'll  be  through  law  school 
and  in  practise,  and  you'll  see !  I'll 
work  like  ten  horses.  I'll  make  good. 
I  must.  And  I'll  take  care  of  you  and 
father." 

Mannering,  his  cigar  in  his  long 
fingers,  stretched  his  arms  to  their 
width  with  a  yawn.  "Thank  you  both 
so  much,"  he  said.  He  laughed.  "But 
do  I  look  decrepit?  And  who  owns 
Garden  Court  ?  I  or  you  two  ?  Yet 
it's  beautiful  to  see  such  energy  with 
such  youth.  And  money -making 
power — though  a  bit  visionary.  Eric, 
do  you  happen  to  know  any  young 

18] 


HER  COUNTRY 

lawyers  who  have  heaped  up  imme 
diate  fortunes  at  their  profession  ?  I 
don't.  Honor's  scheme  seems  to  me 
more  businesslike.  Only  two  small  ifs 
between  her  and  a  hundred  thousand 
a  year.  //  she  has  a  marvellous  voice, 
and  if  she  can  get  it  trained.  If  I  con 
sent  is  not  in  the  catalogue,  is  it, 
Honor?" 

The  girl  sitting  before  him  on  the 
ground,  long  arms  folded,  long  legs 
crossed,  shook  her  head.  "Not  a  bit, 
dad,"  she  assured  him,  and  though 
her  eyes  danced,  she  meant  it. 

Mannering  smiled  lazily.  "Odd  how 
I  don't  influence  my  offspring,"  he 
commented  impersonally.  "I  didn't 
want  Eric  to  sell  those  rubies,  but  he 
would.  And  I  suppose  that  length  of 
mediaeval  saint,  lined  throughout 
with  pure  paganism,  squatting  on  the 

[9] 


HER  COUNTRY 

lawn  like  a  toad — I  suppose  Honor 
will  do  exactly  as  her  mature  judg 
ment  decides.  Won't  you,  Honor  ?  " 

"Uh-huh,"  the  girl  agreed. 

"There's  one  thing — you  won't  get 
two  thousand  dollars  out  of  me,  or 
one  thousand,  for  a  musical  educa 
tion,  for  I  haven't  got  it.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  that?" 

"I'm  going  to  earn  it."  The  young 
lips  set  tight  as  her  gray  glance  shot 
up  to  the  man's  lazy  eyes. 

"How?" 

"A  job." 

"What?" 

"Secretary  for  Mr.  Barron." 

Mannering  whistled  softly.  He 
smiled,  amused.  "When?" 

"Monday." 

"Nonsense."  Mannering  scratched 
a  match  with  deliberation  and  lighted 

[101 


HER  COUNTRY 

a  fresh  cigar.   "You  know  nothing 
about  business." 

"But  I  do.  You  know  I've  been  in 
town  three  days  a  week  for  six 
months." 

"Yes." 

"I  told  you  I  was  studying.  You 
didn't  bother  to  ask  what  I  was 
studying.  I  was  at  a  business  college. 
I've  taken  my  course." 

"The  devil  you  say!" 

"Uh-huh."  She  sprang  lightly  to  her 
feet.  "Mr.  Barron  knew  about  it.  I 
told  you  I  had  a  secret  with  him  and 
you  took  no  interest.  Now — will  you 
be  good  ?  I'm  going  to  make  money. 
And  save  it,  for  myself.  And  in  two 
years  I'll  have  enough  to  go  to  New 
York  and  study  music,  and  make  my 
own  career,  and  no  thanks  to  any 
body." 

[HI 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mannering  stopped  smoking  and 
stared  again  at  the  polished  toe  of 
his  russet  shoe.  He  was  silent  for  a 
long  minute;  then  he  laughed.  "The 
whole  scheme  is  distasteful  to  me," 
he  stated  in  pleasant,  even  tones. 
"But  I  don't  see  that  I  can  prevent 
it.  I  won't  squabble.  I  can't  stand 
family  quarrels,  but  I'm  not  proud  of 
what  you've  done.  There  has  been  an 
Honor  Mannering  in  this  house  for  a 
century,  but  never  an  Honor  Man 
nering  in  a  business  college.  Business  ! 
Secretary  to  the  head  of  a  knitting- 
mill  !  Honor  Mannering !  Can't  you 
feel  the  grotesqueness,  the  sordidness 
of  it?" 

"Not  a  scrap,  dad,"  answered  the 
girl  blithely.  "Of  course,  I'd  rather  go 
at  the  music  now,  and  leave  out  the 
business.  But  I  can't,  so  why  bother  ? 

[12] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mr.  Barren's  giving  me  a  thousand  a 
year  if  I  make  good.  And  I  will  make 
good.  I'll  make  so  good  that  I  think 
he'll  give  me  more  the  second  year. 
Don't  you  see,  father — I've  got  to  have 
money  !  Even — music  is  just  for  that. 
I'm  so  sick  of  debt  and  pretending 
and  keeping  up  appearances — having 
a  car  and  a  chauffeur  and  fine  clothes, 
and  skimping  on  meals  and  the  ser 
vants'  wages  and  letting  the  house  go 
to  pieces !  It's  demoralizing.  You 
won't  make  money;  Eric  can't,  for 
ever  so  long.  I've  got  to.  And  I've  this 
voice  which  has  got  to  do  it  for  me. 
You  see?" 

"Not  I,"  announced  Mannering 
with  a  shrug.  "No  woman  of  my 
house  ever  found  it  incumbent  on  her 
before  to  make  money." 

"Honor,"  demanded  the  boy,  "is 

[13] 


HER  COUNTRY 

that  why  you're  taking  flowers  to 
Mclvor  ?  You're  not — trying  to  work 
him?" 

The  girl  laughed,  tossed  up  her  head 
defiantly.  "If  he  should  hear  me  sing 
— and  say  to  himself:  'That's  a  good 
voice;  it's  the  girl  next  door;  can  I 
help  her  develop  that  voice  ? '  what 
harm's  that?  Eric,  how  horrid  you 
are  to  pin  me !  I  dare  say — when  I 
said  I'd  bring  some  roses  for  Mclvor 
— when  he  came  to  the  Barrens  from 
the  hospital — why — I'm  not  ashamed 
if  I  did  think  of  that,  partly.  That  he 
might  help  about  my  voice.  Why 
shouldn't  he?  Musicians  are  glad  to 
discover  a  new  big  voice.  So  I  shall 
sing  in  the  garden  if  I  please.  And  if 
Mclvor  hears  me  and  asks  me  to  sing 
for  him — who  knows  what  might  hap 
pen?  Now  I'm  going  to  get  the  best 

[141 


HER  COUNTRY 

roses  we  have.  And  I'll  sing  too,  if  I 
choose.  Too  bad  he's  not  there  yet; 
he  can't  hear  me." 

She  ran  across  the  grass  with  the 
confident  ease  of  a  boy,  and  suddenly, 
as  she  stood  again  at  the  rose-hedge 
her  voice,  full,  strong,  effortless,  filled 
all  the  air  with  jubilant  music. 

She  had  made  a  mistake.  Mclvor 
was  there.  From  the  hospital  in  the 
city  where  his  valuable  throat  had 
been  under  treatment  for  a  week,  the 
Barrens'  big  car  had  brought  him  to 
the  Barrens'  house  an  hour  ago.  Ten 
years  back  the  great  musician  was 
spending  his  days  shifting  machinery 
in  Henry  Barren's  knitting-mill,  un 
conscious  of  the  Golconda  mine  wait 
ing,  unused,  in  his  voice.  He  sang  in 
the  noon-hour,  sometimes,  for  his 
mates,  and  on  a  day  Barron  heard 

[151 


HER  COUNTRY 

him.  Barron,  music  lover,  philan 
thropist,  and  not  ignorant,  recognized 
the  gift  of  his  workman  as  remark 
able,  and  for  love  of  music  and  of 
mankind  gave  the  beautiful  voice  a 
chance,  and  found  that  it  was  a  great 
voice.  Between  the  two  men  had 
grown  a  friendship.  When  Mclvor's 
throat  got  troublesome  it  was  natural 
that  Barron  should  arrange  with  the 
famous  specialist  who  ruled  over  the 
hospital  in  his  city,  and  natural  that 
as  soon  as  the  operation  was  safely 
done  Mclvor  should  come  to  Bar- 
ron's  house  for  his  convalescence. 

Carefully  covered  from  even  the 
June  breezes,  luxurious  on  a  wide 
divan  among  pillows,  he  lay  now  on 
the  gallery  and  revelled  in  the  soft  air 
and  flowers  and  country  stillness,  and 
considered  thoughtfully,  as  he  often 

[16] 


HER  COUNTRY 

did,  the  contrast  of  his  early  life  with 
this,  for  Mclvor  liked  all  things  love 
ly,  and  never  forgot  who  had  opened 
the  gates  of  such  a  world  to  him. 
His  beauty-loving  eyes  lingered  on 
the  tall  lattice  all  but  hidden  with 
extravagant  masses  of  Dorothy  Per 
kins  roses.  The  lattice  ran  for  two 
hundred  yards,  a  wall  of  glory,  and 
that  it  was  broken  here  and  there 
counted  unto  it  for  righteousness  to 
Mclvor.  That  gave  atmosphere,  his 
tory.  Anybody  could  have  a  new  lat 
tice.  As  he  regarded  the  large  hole 
approvingly,  through  it  suddenly 
floated  the  music  of  heaven.  The 
singer,  tingling  in  every  tempera 
mental  nerve,  regarded  it  so. 

"My  God  !"  whispered  Mclvor  rev 
erently. 

It   seemed   nothing   less   than   the 

[17] 


HER  COUNTRY 

touch  of  a  divine  hand  that  after  his 
hideous  week  of  suffering  he  should 
alight  in  this  lovely  place,  cradled  in 
peace,  and  music  should  come  to  him 
through  a  wall  of  roses.  It  was  one 
of  his  own  songs  she  was  singing,  one 
of  the  simple,  hackneyed,  undying 
Scotch  melodies  which  his  mother 
had  taught  him  thirty  years  ago  by 
the  Firth  of  Tay,  to  which  he  went 
back  gladly  still  from  difficult  oper 
atic  work  of  which  he  had  come  to  be 
past  master.  He  lifted  himself  on  his 
elbow  among  the  pillows,  and  his  face 
was  brilliant. 

"Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonnie, 
Where  early  fa's  the  dew." 

The  voice  brooded  among  the  low 
notes,  clearly,  happily.  It  went  on: 

"An'  'twas  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true." 
[18] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mclvor  waited,  anxious  to  see  what 
would  happen  when  the  air  jumped 
inches  of  scale. 

"  Gie'd  me  her  promise  true ! 
Which  ne'er  forgot  shall  be  ! 
An'  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie — " 

The  high  notes  floated  to  him,  full 
and  clean,  and  then  dropped  deli- 
ciously  to  the  croon  of  the  world-old 
love-song. 

"I'd  lay  me  down  and  dee." 

Mclvor,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  revel 
ling  in  the  flooding  sounds,  frowned. 
He  shook  his  head.  "It's  a  pity," 
he  murmured,  and  then  shouted, 
"Henry — Henry!"  He  shouted  at 
the  top  of  his  lungs. 

Henry  Barron,  reading  inside, 
dropped  his  magazine  and  dashed 
through  the  open  door.  "What  in 

[19] 


HER  COUNTRY 

the  name  of  heaven's  the  matter? 
You're  not  ill?" 

Mclvor  did  not  smile.  "Ill — no. 
Who's  that  singing?" 

"Oh!"  Barron  looked  relieved. 
"Now  see  here,  old  man — you're 
there  to  rest,  not  to  get  excited.  Dr. 
Thomas  said  you  were  to  do  no  talk 
ing  or  even  thinking  for  two  hours." 

"Dr.  Thomas  go  to  the  devil.  That 
voice — who  is  it?" 

"Little  Honor  Mannering,  next 
door.  It's  a  fine  voice — yet " 

"Exactly,"  Mclvor  caught  him  up. 
"Something  lacking.  But  a  great 
music  machine,  the  throat  that's  do 
ing  that  peaches  and  cream.  I  want 
her  to  sing  for  me.  I  want  to  see 
what's  the  trouble — why  that  voice 

isn't  a  miracle.  Can  you  get  her 
.  » 

[20] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Barren  was  looking  into  the  sunlight 
of  his  drive.  "Here  she  comes,"  he 
said. 

The  white,  tall,  thin  figure  was  mov 
ing,  facile  of  movement  as  the  voice, 
up  the  broad  gravel;  the  shallow 
basket,  rioting  color,  swept  casually 
back  and  forth  in  the  girl's  hand. 
Barron  went  down  the  steps. 

"For  Mr.  Mdvor,"  she  called, 
swinging  the  mass  of  reds  and  pinks 
at  him  as  she  came.  "I  wish  they 
were  better.  They're  all  we  have,  but 
they're  only  common  roses." 

"The  sweetest  kind,"  said  Barron, 
and  the  girl  stood  gazing  at  him,  her 
eyes  shining  with  the  romance  of 
bringing  flowers  to  a  hero. 

"  When's  he  coming  ?  "  she  demand 
ed.  "I'm  going  to  stand  in  our  gar 
den  and  sing  and  sing  till  he  asks  me 

[21] 


HER  COUNTRY 

to  do  '  Carmen '  for  him.  Do  tell  him 
to,  Mr.  Barren.  When's  he  coming?" 

"He's  here,"  some  one  spoke  from 
the  gallery,  back  of  the  flower-boxes. 
The  girl  stood  rooted.  "And  'Car 
men  '  has  been  sung  by  worse  voices. 
Seldom  better." 

"Oh,"  groaned  Barren,  "he  ought 
not  to  be  stirred  up;  come  and  see 
him,  then,  but  don't  stay  over  a  min 
ute." 

The  girl  came,  breathless,  shy  a  bit, 
but  blissful. 

"To-morrow  morning,  then,  you'll 
sing  for  him,"  said  Barren  three  min 
utes  later.  "And  now  go  away,  my 
dear,  for  he  mustn't  get  tired." 

In  the  Barron  drawing-room,  while 
Mclvor's  secretary  played  an  accom 
paniment,  the  girl  stood  next  morn 
ing  and  sang. 

[22] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mclvor  lay  outside  among  his  pil- 

j 

lows  and  stared  at  the  tossing  pink 
veil  clothing  the  broken  lattice.  The 
girl  sang  as  confidently  as  any  bird 
in  a  tree,  taking  the  difficult  changes 
and  the  trying  high  notes  without  any 
effort.  Her  voice  was  astonishing  in 
its  power.  Mclvor  looked  at  her  as 
she  came  smiling  through  the  door. 

"  You'd  do  for  a  church  organ,"  he 
said.  "Where  does  all  that  noise 
come  from,  you  wisp  of  a  child? 
Turn  sideways."  She  whirled,  laugh 
ing.  "I  see.  You  fooled  me.  You've 
got  the  deep  chest  of  a  prima  donna. 
Healthy,  aren't  you  ? " 

She  nodded.  "As  strong  as  my 
brother.  Never  ill  since  measles.  I 
can  run  up-hill  and  not  get  winded." 

"You're  fit,"  said  Mclvor.  The  girl 
looked  at  him,  waited. 

[23] 


HER  COUNTRY 

In  a  moment:  "You'd  be  awfully 
good — if  you'd  tell  me  about  my 
voice,"  she  brought  out,  and  flushed. 
The  surface  hardness  which  she  had 
forced  on  herself  did  not  go  deep  yet. 
Quickly  she  went  on,  and  her  young 
face  grew  oddly  keen.  "You  see — Mr. 
Mclvor — I've  got  to  make  money. 
And  I've  been  told — my  voice  was — 
good  for  it.  Not  a  little  money — lots  ! 
I  hate — getting  along — being  hard 
up.  If  you'd  say — that  I've  got  a  real 
voice " 

Mclvor  drew  his  brows  together. 
"Make  money  !  And  you  seventeen  ! " 
he  said  as  if  to  himself,  but  his  eyes 
were  stern.  "Miss  Mannering,  you 
are  going  the  wrong  way  to  be  an 
artist.  Art  is  an  exacting  mistress. 
The  price  she  asks  for  success  is  one's 
heart.  If  ye  cannot  give  that,  if  ye 

[24] 


HER  COUNTRY 

cannot  love  music  for  music's  sake" — 
Mclvor  dropped  into  Scotchness  at 
odd  times ;  it  was  a  sign  of  strong  feel 
ing — "ye'U  not  be  great.  Ye  cer 
tainly  hae  a  fine  organ  for  singin'; 
it's  a  grand  machine  God  has  gi'en 
ye.  But  I  know  now  what's  troublin' 
me  about  your  voice — the  soul's  not 
there.  An'  gi'en  ye  persist  in  wantin' 
money  first,  the  soul  will  not  find  its 
way  in.  Ye'll  be  no  true  singer.  It's 
mechanical,  that  lovely  big  voice  of 
ye,  and  it'll  move  no  man.  What  the 
true  singer  wants  is  to  stir  the  hearts 
of  people  and  send  them  awa'  to  help 
the  world,  because  his  music  has 
helped  them.  Would  na'  ye  like  to 
do  that?" 

Honor's  soft  mouth  was  firm.  "No," 
she  said.  "I  don't  care.  I  want  their 
money."  Mclvor  shook  his  head. 

[25] 


HER  COUNTRY 

The  girl  stared  at  him.  She  was  fear 
less  and  obstinate.  Not  easily  did  she 
let  go  a  purpose.  "Mr.  Mclvor,"  she 
said  at  last,  "you  don't  understand. 
I've  got  to  make  money.  And  my 
voice  is  my  one  way.  Thank  you  for 
listening.  You  know  everything,  and 
I  very  little,  but — people  who  can 
judge  have  told  me  I  could  do  a  lot 
with  my  voice — and  I'm  going  to. 
You  say  yourself  it's  a  good — ma 
chine.  I've — I've—  She  was  half 
sobbing  with  angry  distress.  Yet  she 
was  determined.  "I've  planned  my 
career,  and  I'll  stick  to  it.  I'll  succeed. 
I'll  make  lots  of  money.  You'll  see." 

Suddenly  she  whirled  and,  springing 
down  the  steps,  ran  full  tilt  across  the 
lawn  to  a  break  in  the  lattice,  and 
dropping  to  the  ground,  slid  through 
like  a  rabbit. 

[261 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mclvor  looked  up  at  Barron.  The 
two  men  laughed  a  little,  and  then  the 
musician  sighed.  "The  poor  baby," 
he  said.  "She's  got  so  much,  and  she's 
likely  goin'  to  throw  it  away.  Money ! 
At  seventeen !  An'  she  with  the  face 
of  a  seraph  and  a  voice  out  of  ten 
million!" 

"Perhaps  she'll  grow  up.  She's  only 
a  baby,"  Barron  considered,  and 
went  on  to  explain  a  bit  to  the  other 
how  things  were  at  the  Mannerings, 
and  the  influences  that  had  shaped 
the  motherless  girl. 

"If,"  said  Mclvor,  "she  has  the 
right  stuff,  life  will  come  along  some 
day  with  a  big  emotion,  and  money 
and  such  trash  will  go  smash.  And  the 
world  will  get  one  of  its  great  music- 
makers.  But  a  singer  without  a  soul 
is  no  good." 

[27] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Two  years  after  the  Mclvor  epi 
sode  the  Mannering  household  had 
changed  little  outwardly.  But  young 
Eric  had  been  now  for  a  year  a  prac 
tising  lawyer,  with  a  beginning  of  a 
reputation  already,  and  Honor,  secre 
tary  to  Henry  Barron,  president  of 
the  Empire  Knitting  Mills,  was  a  cap 
italist.  She  had  fifteen  hundred  dol 
lars  salted  away  in  a  savings-bank. 

"When  it's  two  thousand  I'll  bolt 
for  New  York,"  she  told  Barron, 
"and  in  six  months  from  that  I'll  be 
a  success.  You'll  see.  Stroble  says  my 
voice  is  better  and  better." 

About  that  time  she  awoke  with  a 
start  to  a  huge  movement  in  the 
world;  the  world  was  swaying  on  its 
foundations,  and  she  in  her  self-cen 
tred  little  orbit  suddenly  was  shaken. 
America  was  at  war.  On  a  day  it  came 

[28] 


HER  COUNTRY 

to  her  what  war  meant.  It  was  Eric, 
chafing  at  his  lameness,  his  helpless 
ness  to  fight,  Eric  burning  with  pa 
triotism,  who  roused  her.  The  boy 
had  developed  into  a  speaker  of 
promise,  and  was  being  used  at  a 
variety  of  meetings.  One  day  an  older 
speechmaker  said  to  him: 

"Make  them  sing  something  before 
you  begin.  It  limbers  an  audience  and 
focusses  its  attention.  It  does  your 
first  five  minutes'  work  for  you." 

"Honor,  do  you  want  to  go  with  me 
and  sing  at  a  factory  meeting  to 
morrow  at  noon?  I  want  a  verse  of 
*  America'  to  stir  the  meeting  up  be 
fore  I  speak." 

"Why,  yes,"  the  girl  agreed  easily. 
"I  can  get  off.  And  it's  good  adver 
tisement.  My  voice  will  be  known  a 
bit." 

[29] 


HER  COUNTRY 

"Young  pig!"  The  brother  apos 
trophized  her.  "Isn't  it  in  you  to  con 
sider  your  flag?" 

Honor  reflected.  "I  don't  think  so," 
she  decided  with  honesty.  "Lots 
of  people  are  doing  things  for  the 
flag.  I'm  glad  to  have  'em.  Me, 
I've  got  my  voice  and  my  career; 
that's  all  I  can  attend  to.  I'm  like  a 
horse,  capable  of  only  one  idea  at  a 
time." 

"Isn't  it  in  you,"  interjected  her 
father,  unhurried,  soft- voiced,  "to 
consider  your  breeding  ?  Your  family 
traditions?  A  daughter  of  the  Man- 
nerings  of  Garden  Court — singing  to 
factory-hands  !  My  word  !  the  race  is 
degenerating." 

"Not  at  all,  dad.  It's  improving. 
Family  traditions  don't  cut  any  ice," 
remarked  Honor  tersely.  "If  Eric  and 

[30] 


HER  COUNTRY 

I  bothered  with  them  we'd  get  no 
where." 

"For  Eric  it's  permissible,"  Man- 
nering  stated.  "It's  a  statesmanlike 
accomplishment  to  make  speeches. 
But  you  —  entertaining  workmen  ! 
Hideous  !  I  suppose  if  I  definitely  ob 
jected  it  wouldn't  make  any  differ 
ence." 

"Don't  definitely  object,  dear 
child,"  Honor  adjured  her  father. 
"You  know  you're  not  fitted  to 
handle  Eric  and  me.  But  we  do  hate 
to  go  bang  into  your  theories.  So  put 
'em  on  a  high  shelf  out  of  our  reach, 
beautiful  one.  They  don't  go  with  us 
at  all,  but  they're  simply  lovely  on 

you." 

Eric  Mannering  laughed,  not  ill- 
pleased.  It  was  comfortable  to  be  as 
sured  that  it  was  of  no  use  trying  to 

[311 


HER  COUNTRY 

influence  these  handsome  and  un 
manageable  children  of  his.  It  would 
have  disturbed  his  placid  laziness  to 
argue.  "I  can't  understand,"  he  con 
sidered,  "how  people  in  general  con 
trol  their  young.  I  never  could."  And 
with  entire  amiability  he  let  it  go  at 
that. 

"Your  brother  makes  a  corking 
speech,  Miss  Mannering."  She  was 
driving  next  day  with  Eric  and  three 
other  men,  politicians,  across  the  city 
to  the  great  motor-factory. 

"He  told  me  he  did,"  Honor  an 
swered,  her  gray  eyes  dancing.  And 
the  men  laughed  in  a  big  chorus. 

"She's  a  young  infidel,"  Eric  as 
serted,  laughing,  too,  "and  has  no  re 
spect  for  age  or  genius.  If  I  could  once 
stir  her  with  a  speech  I'd  consider  I'd 
made  a  real  hit.  I  don't  believe  she 

[32] 


HER  COUNTRY 

knows  what  the  Liberty  Loan  means, 
and  as  for  the  country,  she  takes  no 
more  responsibility  for  it  than  a 
squirrel  up  a  tree." 

"Not  a  patriot,  Miss  Mannering?" 
asked  one  of  the  men.  "I'm  surprised, 
with  your  family  record— your  grand 
father  the  ambassador,  and  your 
great-grandfather  the  governor." 

"I  don't  believe  I  particularly  be 
long  to  my  family,"  the  girl  reflected. 
"  I  don't  care  about  their  record.  If  I 
can  make  my  own  way  with  my  voice 
— make  money — that's  all  I  want. 
I'm  too  busy  with  that  to  bother 
much  about  the  country,  you  see." 

And  the  men  laughed  again,  not  dis 
approvingly,  because  of  her  beauty 
and  her  youth,  and  thought  Manner- 
ing's  young  sister  charmingly  demo 
cratic. 

[33] 


HER  COUNTRY 

The  car  sped  along  miles  of  city, 
through  streets  which  Honor  had 
never  known  existed,  and  came  to  the 
Black-Lewis  Factory,  and  turned 
into  a  large  bare  yard  between  build 
ings.  Around  the  walls  stood  hun 
dreds  of  men,  marshalled  compactly. 
The  men  in  the  car  got  out  and  shook 
hands  with  two  or  three  who  seemed 
to  be  in  charge. 

Then,  "Ready,  kid,"  Eric  said  to 
her.  "Stand  up  in  the  car."  Honor 
caught  her  breath ;  she  was  frightened 
a  little,  unexpectedly.  She  was  not 
used  to  audiences;  but  she  stood  in 
the  tonneau  of  the  car  as  Eric  di 
rected,  tall  and  slim  like  a  flower, 
and  looked  gravely,  with  a  sudden 
shy  dignity,  at  the  observing  faces 
of  five  hundred  working  men. 

"Now,  Honor — 'America." 

[34] 


HER  COUNTRY 

The  girl's  eyes  lifted  from  all  those 
eyes  regarding  her,  lifted  high  to 
avoid  that  trying  many-barrelled  re 
gard,  and  with  that  she  caught  a 
flash,  from  a  building,  of  a  flag  tossing 
bright  colors  against  the  sky.  To  her 
astonishment  a  thrill  caught  her. 
"Isn't  it  in  you  to  consider  your 
flag?"  Eric  had  asked.  There  it  was, 
the  flag  that  had  guarded  her  waking 
and  sleeping  all  her  life;  it  was  in 
danger;  enemies  were  waiting  to  dis 
honor  it,  to  tear  it  down;  suddenly 
her  whole  vigorous,  fresh  being  rose 
to  it  in  warmth  and  in  loyalty.  The 
flag  !  America  !  Into  the  dusty  air,  up 
ward,  the  full  notes  poured: 

"My  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing!" 

The  girl  sang,  and  the  grimy,  tired 

[35] 


HER  COUNTRY 

men,  listening,  felt,  each  one,  some 
thing  that  had  been  hard  softening 
inside  of  him,  something  catch  in  his 
throat,  a  contraction  around  the  eyes. 
Eric  watched,  well  pleased. 

"Will  you  all  join  in  the  second 
verse  ?  "  he  spoke. 

Again  the  girl  lifted  the  strong  and 
sweet  tones,  and  into  them  were 
gathered,  following,  not  obscuring 
the  volume  of  her  voice,  half  a  thou 
sand  voices  of  men,  rolling  sweet 
thunder  through  the  buildings  where 
only  the  hum  of  machinery,  on  other 
days,  filled  the  air. 

"It's  good  dope.  It  works  to  a 
charm,"  Eric  commented  silently,  as 
the  big  music  ended  and  the  ranks 
of  men  stood  touched,  open-souled, 
ready  for  an  impression. 

He  lifted  himself  to  the  running- 

[36] 


HER  COUNTRY 

board  of  the  car  and  the  one  halting 
step  laid  a  claim  on  every  man  there 
before  he  said  a  word.  This  chap 
could  not  fight;  fate  had  tied  him 
with  lameness,  but  he  was  doing  the 
best  he  could  for  his  country.  One 
read  his  speeches  every  day  in  the 
papers.  His  sister  looked  at  him, 
proud  of  his  height  and  beauty  and 
finished  accent,  and  the  straight, 
strong  English  which  came  from  his 
lips,  proudest  of  all  of  an  intangible 
something  which  she  felt,  and  which 
all  these  men  felt,  the  secret  of  the 
charm  of  young  Eric  Mannering.  It 
was  an  unphrased  assertion  that  he 
and  they  were  brothers  in  a  cause  so 
large  that  all  differences  of  caste  were 
straws  on  an  ocean.  Eric  Mannering, 
the  sixth,  grandson  of  an  ambassador, 
great-grandson  of  a  governor,  with 

[37] 


HER  COUNTRY 

his  air  of  race,  his  speech  of  breeding, 
cared  most  to  be  what  all  these  work 
men  were — American.  He  talked  as 
an  American  to  Americans,  and  he 
talked  from  an  absolute  sincerity,  and 
the  trained  brain  and  speech  which 
were  vehicles  for  his  words  were  good, 
to  him,  because  they  might  serve  the 
cause  of  America.  By  some  force  of 
reaction  both  the  Mannering  children 
were  democrats,  and  as  the  brother 
spoke  the  sister  approved.  Yet  she 
did  not  listen  intelligently  at  first. 
Eric  was  saying  things  about  a  good 
investment,  four  per  cent  only,  but 
safe  as  the  granite  hills.  A  good  in 
vestment.  It  did  not  interest  her.  She 
was  not  going  to  buy  bonds.  She  was 
going  to  New  York  to  learn  to  sing, 
to  make  a  fortune  with  her  voice. 
But  listen — Eric  was  talking  about — 

[38] 


HER  COUNTRY 

the  flag.  Still  shaken  with  the  thrill 
of  leading  those  five  hundred  deep 
voices,  shaken  with  the  tremendous 
meaning  of  the  words  she  had  sung, 
still  startled  with  that  unexpected 
wind  which  had  swept  her  upward 
into  the  colors  against  the  sky,  as 
Eric  spoke  she  caught  her  breath  and 
listened.  And  behold  his  words  were  a 
bugle-call.  This  was  what  the  papers 
meant  by  Eric's  power  of  stirring 
audiences.  Rebellious,  half  angry,  she 
realized  that  he  was  stirring  her.  The 
papers  had  been  full  of  the  patriotic 
duty  of  buying  Liberty  Bonds;  she 
knew  that  public  men  were  urging  the 
people,  rich  and  poor,  to  put  their 
savings  into  the  loan,  to  help  the 
country  raise  money  to  use  for  the 
war.  The  campaign  left  her  cold.  She 
had  saved  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in 

[39] 


HER  COUNTRY 

two  strenuous  years  for  a  purpose. 
She  meant  to  use  it  for  that  purpose. 
She  had  no  intention  of  side-tracking 
any  of  it  in  Liberty  Bonds.  She  was 
clear  about  that.  But,  listen.  Eric  in 
that  appealing  voice  of  his,  whose  un 
conscious  power  came,  she  thought 
always,  from  the  long  suffering  of  his 
lameness,  was  talking  about  the 
country  —  our  country  —  America. 
The  land  about  which  she  and  the 
five  hundred  men  had  been  singing, 
America  needed  their  money,  Eric 
was  saying,  for  her  very  life.  The  girl 
listened.  She  was  going  to  New  York; 
that  was  settled;  she  hoped  Eric 
would  influence  these  men  to  put 
their  savings  into  Liberty  Bonds;  it 
was  good;  it  was  public-spirited;  peo 
ple  ought  to  do  it,  probably,  but  not 
she.  She  had  a  fixed  purpose,  and  it 

[40] 


HER  COUNTRY 

would  be  silly  to  let  it  go.  The  girl 
was  tenacious.  Not  for  one  speech  of 
Eric's  would  she  change  her  two 
years'  decision.  Yet  a  seed  of  discom 
fort  was  springing  in  her  mind.  Eric's 
voice,  with  its  sincerity,  its  throb  of 
old  pain,  flowed  on. 

"Do  you  realize,  men,  what  it  means 
that  the  country  shall  have  money  to 
carry  on  this  war  ?  Suppose  you  lived 
in  a  street  at  the  end  of  which  was  a 
dangerous  river.  Suppose  you  lived 
two  doors  from  the  wall  which  guarded 
that  river.  Suppose  the  river  was  high 
and  threatening  to  break  through, 
and  the  family  next  door  was  tired 
out  building  up  the  wall.  Suppose  it 
was  certain  that  if  the  river  broke,  all 
your  city  would  be  destroyed.  Would 
you  or  wouldn't  you  drop  work  and 
play  and  turn  anything,  everything, 

[41] 


HER  COUNTRY 

into  material  to  build  up  that  wall? 
The  river  is  Germany,  the  house  next 
door  is  England  and  France — the  Al 
lies.  The  wall  is  mostly  England's 
fleet.  It's  England's  fleet  that  has 
protected  us  from  invasion  for  three 
years.  As  sure  as  we  are  here  to-day, 
just  so  surely  Germany  will  invade 
America  if  she  can  starve  out  Eng 
land  and  make  her  give  up  that  fleet. 
We  are  all  nestling  behind  England's 
fleet.  We've  got  to  see  that  England 
isn't  starved; 'we've  got  to  help  her 
fight.  She  deserves  it  of  us  if  we  were 
in  no  peril  at  all,  because  she  has 
fought  our  battle  for  three  years — 
but  we're  in  deadly  peril.  This  is  our 
cause — America's.  Our  government 
has  got  to  have  money  to  feed  Eng 
land  and  to  care  for  our  soldiers  who 
are  going  across — now — to  fight  for 
[421 


HER  COUNTRY 

us.  It  is  for  our  own  boys,  our  good 
American  flesh  and  blood  that  the 
government  asks  you  to  buy  these 
bonds.  So  that  they  will  not  be  cold 
and  hungry,  and  short  of  guns  and 
ammunition  to  do  our  fighting.  Let  us 
— who  cannot  go ' 

Eric's  voice  faltered,  and  the  girl 
felt  the  shock  of  sympathy  through 
the  audience  like  a  blow.  He  cleared 
his  throat  and  smiled  boyishly. 

"We  who  cannot  go  and  fight  for 
dear  America — for  the  high  moun 
tains  and  the  broad  rivers  and  the 
cheerful  towns,  and  the  big,  strong, 
generous  people  whom  we  love  as  our 
own  heart's  blood — we'll  do  our  part 
here  with  a  rush  and  a  good-will  like 
an  irresistible  flood;  we'll  buy  this 
Liberty  Loan  with  a  surplus  over, 
that  will  be  like  a  great  shout  to  Ger- 

[431 


HER  COUNTRY 

many  that  America  will  take  care  of 
her  own — that  America  is  going  to 
win!" 

The  thrilling  young  voice  stopped, 
and  for  a  second  there  was  silence, 
and  then  the  audience  burst  into  a 
storm  of  clapping  and  applause,  and 
with  that  they  broke  ranks  and  be 
gan  crowding  about  the  men  who  had 
come  in  the  car  with  the  two  Man- 
nerings,  the  workers. 

"I  want  a  bond — I  want  two — I've 
got  to  stick  in  a  bond  to  build  that 
wall,"  the  men  were  saying  over  each 
other's  shoulders. 

Eric,  flushed,  happy,  watched  them 
and  shook  hands  with  them,  and  in 
troduced  them  to  his  little  sister,  and 
both  enjoyed  every  moment  of  the 
scene  with  the  hot,  happy,  pulsing 
blood  which  real  living  brings. 

[44] 


HER  COUNTRY 

"Honor,  you  never  sang  like  that 
before,"  the  boy  said,  and  Honor 
laughed. 

"You  don't  know  yet  what  your 
tame  prima  donna  can  do,"  she  an 
swered  easily. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  with  me  to 
morrow?"  Eric  asked. 

Day  after  day  Eric  spoke,  working 
far  into  the  nights  to  make  time  for 
this  work  which  he  offered  to  his 
country  instead  of  the  body  which  he 
might  not  offer.  And  it  came  to  be 
that  on  most  days  Mr.  Barren's  secre 
tary  went  with  him,  Mr.  Barren  send 
ing  her  gladly  for  the  cause,  to  sing 
patriotic  songs.  The  two  were  soon 
a  feature  of  the  Liberty  Loan  cam 
paign,  and  booked  for  all  their  time. 
Meetings  at  great  factories,  meetings 
in  large  schools,  meetings  in  country 

[45] 


HER  COUNTRY 

towns  where  farmers  must  be  aroused 
to  the  importance  of  their  savings  for 
Uncle  Sam's  safety — many  sorts  of 
meetings  heard  Eric  speak  and  Honor 
sing,  and  always  the  two  were  a  suc 
cess.  Always  there  was,  in  their  wake, 
an  uncommon  sale  of  Liberty  Bonds. 
So  it  happened  that  on  a  Saturday 
the  committee  sent  Eric  to  speak  at 
the  Lynden  Knitting  Mill.  The  girl 
drove  with  her  brother  and  the  three 
other  men,  the  "workers, "  across  the 
city  and  down  into  the  manufactur 
ing  district,  and  the  car  slid  to  a  stop 
before  a  large  square  brick  building. 
They  went  up  steps  and  into  a  hall 
way,  and  wound  through  ten-foot 
piles  of  boxes  to  a  glassed-in  office, 
where  were  the  "boss"  and  other  un 
explained  officials,  and  a  girl  stenog 
rapher  or  two,  lifting  their  heads  to 

[46] 


HER  COUNTRY 

regard  this  other  girl,  who  sang.  She 
was  beginning  to  be  known  for  her 
singing,  her  work  with  her  brother; 
the  papers  spoke  of  her  when  they  re 
ported  Eric's  speeches. 

Shortly  they  were  taken  through 
mountainous  piles  of  more  boxes,  and 
more,  through  lanes  in  a  dark  ware- 
room,  lanes  between  piled-up  boxes, 
around  corners  of  boxes,  into  a  great 
place  of  mysterious  machinery,  with 
a  large  open  space.  Along  the  sides  of 
this  space  and  among  the  machines 
— which  were  stopped — stood  girls, 
girls,  girls,  the  factory-hands.  Eric 
and  his  party,  behind  the  manager, 
marched  between  the  lines  of  girls 
and  came  to  a  manner  of  stage,  al 
though  in  truth  it  was  only  a  part  of 
the  floor,  with  half  a  dozen  chairs  for 
the  visitors.  The  girl  and  the  "work- 

[471 


HER  COUNTRY 

ers" — the  men  who  were  to  explain 
and  try  to  sell  the  bonds,  after  Eric's 
speech — sat  down  in  the  chairs,  and 
the  manager  said  a  few  words  to  his 
employees,  while  Eric  stood  by, 
flushed,  breathless  as  always  with  the 
excitement  of  his  coming  speech. 
Then  the  manager  stepped  back  and 
Eric  spoke,  with  his  voice,  his  glance 
of  a  comrade. 

"I  think  before  I  begin  that  we 
might  all  like  to  sing  a  verse  of  a  song 
which  we  love,"  and  he  turned  to  the 
girl. 

She  had  been  staring  at  these  other 
girls,  two  hundred  of  them,  and  her 
heart  was  beating  oddly.  She  under 
stood  what  she  was  there  to  do — to 
stir  up  emotion  in  this  young,  pa 
thetic  company,  so  that  her  broth 
er's  speech  might  have  quicker  and 

[48] 


HER  COUNTRY 

stronger  appeal.  For  a  moment  she 
shrank — how  could  she  help  to  wring 
money  from  these?  She  had  heard 
the  men  in  the  office  saying  that 
most  of  them  earned  five  and  six  dol 
lars  a  week.  To  ask  them  to  save  a 
dollar  a  week !  Then  it  flashed  to  her 
that  it  was  for  their  good ;  it  was  not 
begging  their  money — it  was  giving 
them  a  chance  to  invest  it  safely. 
Swiftly  she  was  on  her  feet,  and 
the  lovely,  un tired  voice  floated  out 
among  the  silent  engineers  and  the 
tired  mill-hands. 

"My  country,  'tis  of  thee — 
Sweet  land  of  liberty — " 

The  two  hundred  girls,  with  their 
worn  young  faces,  with  their  pitiful 
efforts  at  finery,  cheap,  light-colored 
shoes  that  meant  heart's  blood,  slimsy 

[49] 


HER  COUNTRY 

dresses,  cut  in  a  far-off  imitation  of 
millionaires'  daughters'  dresses — they 
listened  to  the  girl's  voice,  hypno 
tized.  Discouraged  faces  brightened, 
defiant  eyes  softened;  Eric  Manner- 
ing  was  indeed  doing  a  wise  thing  to 
send  his  sister's  voice  as  a  messenger 
to  prepare  his  way. 
Then,  coming  forward  with  the  one 
or  two  halting  steps  which,  unknow 
ingly,  did  so  much  to  open  the  way  to 
the  hearts  of  his  audiences,  he  spoke. 
He  caught  his  listeners  at  an  emo 
tional  moment  and  held  them  there. 
He  said  much  the  same  things  always, 
but  always  with  the  instinctive  fit 
ting  of  the  phrase  to  the  people, 
which  is  the  gift  of  a  born  speaker. 
And  he  ended  when  it  was  quite  clear 
that  the  Liberty  Loan  was  no  char 
ity  but  a  great  chance  for  good  busi- 

[50] 


HER  COUNTRY 

ness,    with    an    appeal    to    patriot 
ism. 

"I  know  you  haven't  much  money," 
he  said.  "I  know  it's  hard  to  make 
both  ends  meet;  and  you  save  and 
pinch  already.  But  everybody  here 
can  give  up  something — that  thing 
you've  been  planning  to  do  and  sav 
ing  to  do,  the  thing  you  want  to  do 
a  lot.  I  ask  you  to  give  up  that  for 
this  country  of  ours — of  our  very  own 
— which  is  in  danger — which  needs 
you — needs  you — and  you.  Don't  do 
it  just  because  it's  a  good  investment 
— though  it  is  the  best  investment  in 
the  whole  world  to-day,  to  lend  your 
savings  to  America.  But  do  it  also  for 
this — because  you  love  your  country 
and  want  to  help  her  keep  free;  do  it 
because  the  whole  land  stands  in 
peril  of  a  thing  more  terrible  than  can 

[51] 


HER  COUNTRY 

be  said,  and  you're  brave  enough  to 
want  to  lift  your  hand  with  your 
countrymen  to  ward  off  this  danger. 
Do  it  because  you  want  to  be  able  to 
say  to  your  children,  years  from  now, 
when  the  world  is  safe  for  freedom: 
'7  helped  make  the  world  safe.  7 
stood  by  America  when  she  needed 
me.  I  bought  a  Liberty  Bond/  "  Eric 
turned  suddenly,  shaken  by  his  own 
strong  feeling,  and  met  his  sister's 
eyes,  and  it  was  as  if  he  had  said  the 
words  to  her. 

Honor  did  not  sleep  much  that  night. 
Over  and  over  she  whispered  in  the 
darkness  her  brother's  words,  "7 
helped  make  the  world  safe.  7  stood 
by  America  when  she  needed  me.  7 
bought  a  Liberty  Bond,"  and  closer 
and  closer  drew  the  spell  which  the 
words  threw*  about  her.  How  would 

[52] 


HER  COUNTRY 

it  be  when  a  day  came  that  children 
of  hers  gathered  around  to  ask  ques 
tions  of  the  great  time  when  half  the 
world  battled  for  democracy,  for  free 
dom?  How  would  it  be  when  one 
said: 

"And  you,  mother?  You  did  your 
bit  ?  You  helped  the  country  with  all 
that  you  were,  and  all  that  you  had  ?" 
How  would  it  be  with  her  that  day  if 
her  eyes  might  not  meet  questioning 
young  eyes  ? 

The  girl  was  tenacious  of  a  purpose; 
she  had  promised  herself  not  to  be 
carried  away  by  oratory  and  the  ex 
citement  in  the  air.  She  knew  what 
she  wanted ;  she  had  thought  out  her 
plan.  She  had  lived  for  it  these  two 
years ;  it  was  her  work,  her  affair.  The 
rich  could  give  millions  to  the  Liberty 
Loan.  Why  should  she  sacrifice  her 

[53] 


HER  COUNTRY 

hard-earned  all  when  it  meant  so 
much  to  her,  and  would  mean  so  very 
little  to  the  country  ?  Only  fifteen  hun 
dred  dollars !  Fifteen  one-hundred- 
dollar  bonds !  How  much  would  that 
help?  Not  the  firing  of  a  big  gun 
twice !  And  to  her  it  was  her  future. 
If  her  voice  was  not  trained  now  it 
would  soon  be  too  late.  Let  the  rich 
do  it — they  could  buy  thousands  of 
bonds  and  not  suffer.  Let  the  rich  do 
it.  Daylight  was  seeping  in  at  the 
window  when  she  fell  asleep  with  that 
thought. 

But  the  tide  of  battle  was  turned. 
Possibly  most  of  the  fights  of  human 
ity  are  decided  two  generations  or 
more  before  one  arrives  on  the  field. 
The  powers  of  inheritance  and  of 
tradition  are  strong  and  cumulative. 
The  girl  had  said  that  she  did  not  be- 

[54] 


HER  COUNTRY 

long  to  her  family,  yet  to-day  when 
the  country  needed  its  children,  blood 
asserted  itself  in  her  veins  as  the  very 
blood  of  an  American  five  genera 
tions  ago  who  had  fought  and  died 
for  the  thirteen  colonies  at  King's 
Mountain;  of  a  woman,  a  girl,  who 
about  the  same  time  had  put  her  two 
babies  behind  her  and  fired  steadily 
on  the  Indians  at  Cherry  Valley;  of 
two  young  great-uncles  who  had 
fallen,  one  on  each  side,  for  the  right 
as  each  saw  it,  at  the  first  Bull  Run; 
of  the  great-grandfather  who  had 
sacrificed  his  waning  strength  to  be 
a  war  governor,  and  the  grandfather 
who  had  left  this  Garden  Court  which 
he  loved,  because  the  country  needed 
him  at  a  foreign  post.  Whether  she 
willed  it  or  not  patriotism  was  in  the 
girl's  blood,  and  while  she  steeled  her- 

[551 


HER  COUNTRY 

self  against  its  upsetting  influence, 
that  slow-rolling  flood  of  tradition 
and  inheritance  which  had  shaped  her 
was,  subconsciously,  shaping  her  still. 
Forces  of  good  are  strong  as  well  as 
forces  of  evil,  and  the  habit  of  one 
generation  is  the  inborn  tendency  of 
another. 

"Eric,  are  you  speaking  anywhere 
in  civilization  this  week?"  inquired 
his  father.  "If  it  isn't  too  colossal  an 
effort,  I'd  like  to  hear  you." 

The  two  tall,  handsome  men,  alike 
in  build  and  feature,  sharply  different 
in  expression,  sat  of  another  June 
Sunday  morning,  in  wicker  chairs, 
smoking  tranquilly,  in  the  rose-gar 
den.  The  Dorothy  Perkins  lattice  was 
a  bit  more  broken,  the  gravelled 
walks  a  bit  greener  with  weeds,  the 
aspect  around  a  bit  more  neglected 

[56] 


HER  COUNTRY 

than  two  years  ago.  About  the  gar 
den  moved  as  before  the  tall,  thin 
figure  in  a  white  frock,  swinging  a 
basket,  piling  into  the  basket  masses 
of  red  and  pink.  She  came  and  stood 
before  them  at  the  sentence  as  a  bird 
might  halt  in  its  careless  flight. 

"Do,  beautiful  one,"  she  urged. 
"He  makes  a  dream  of  a  speech,  and 
you'd  be  proud.  You  might  even  buy 
Liberty  Bonds — you  might.  Every 
body  loosens  up  and  buys  bonds 
when  Eric  stands  there  and  turns  on 
his  winning  way." 

Mannering's  sarcastic,  easy  smile 
came  before  his  slow  words.  "I?  Buy 
bonds  ?  With  what  ?  I  haven't  money 
to  be  patriotic." 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  girl  threw  at  him  like 
a  random  arrow.  "Eric  tells  'em  that 
everybody  can  give  up  something  and 

[57] 


HER  COUNTRY 

get  bonds.  Now,  Cousin  Alured  sends 
you  a  thousand  for  your  vacation  in 
Newport.  You  could  give  that  to  your 
country  for  once.  Why  not?"  Man- 
nering's  weak  mouth  set.  His  manner 
of  high-bred  indifference  flushed  to 
what  was  as  near  excitement  as  one 
often  saw  him  in.  "Not  by  a  long 
shot.  Sacrifice  my  one  luxury  of  the 
year !  You're  a  saucy  young  devil, 
Honor.  My  word  !  What  are  you  giv 
ing  up,  who  are  so  free  with  sugges 
tions?  The  bank-account  that's  to 
turn  you  into  a  prima  donna  ?  Come 
— we'll  bargain.  I'll  buy  Liberty 
Bonds  with  my  check  from  Alured 
Mannering,  which  is  due  next  week, 
if  you'll  draw  that  fifteen  hundred 
of  yours  and  use  it  for  the  same 
purpose." 
Mannering,  startled  for  once  to  in- 

[58] 


HER  COUNTRY 

dignation  by  the  daring  hand  on  his 
most  precious  self-indulgence,  yet  be 
lieved  himself  quite  safe.  But  he  had 
reckoned  without  the  host  of  past- 
and-gone  influences  which  made  up  a 
part  of  that  complicated  mixture,  his 
daughter.  He  had  forgotten  the  revo 
lutionary  soldier  and  the  Indian  fight 
ing-woman,  and  those  others  who 
lived  in  her.  The  tall  girl,  standing 
before  the  heavy,  handsome  man  loll 
ing  in  his  deep  chair,  smoking  lazily, 
smiling  at  her  triumphantly  through 
half-closed  eyelids,  stared  at  her 
father.  The  color  as  she  stared  went 
out  of  her  face  and  left  it  pale.  Then 
she  spoke  one  word  in  a  queer, 
wooden  voice. 

"Done,"  said  Honor  Mannering, 
and  put  out  her  hand. 

The  cigar  dropped  from  Manner- 

[59] 


HER  COUNTRY 

ing's  fingers.  "Nonsense!"  he  said, 
and  did  not  stoop  to  pick  it  up. 
"Why,  it's  a  joke,  Honor.  Don't  be 
melodramatic." 

"It's  not  a  joke.  You  said  'we'll  bar 
gain.'  You  stated  your  bargain  and  I 
agreed.  I  mean  it.  If  you're  a  man 
you'll  keep  your  word.  It's  a  debt 
of  honor."  The  hand  was  still  held 
out. 

Mannering,  his  armor  of  indifference 
stripped,  gazed  at  her  horrified,  and 
knew  that  he  must  indeed  keep  his 
word.  For  there  were  a  few  things 
sound  yet  in  Eric  Mannering' s  flabby 
code,  and  the  girl's  finger  was  on  one. 
He  stood  up,  and  the  gods  and  his  an 
cestors  gave  him  grace  to  put  out  his 
own  hand.  "You  have  me,  Miss  Man 
nering,"  and  he  smiled  again  lazily. 
"Done."  He  gripped  the  girl's  hand 

[60] 


HER  COUNTRY 

savagely,  and  turned  and  walked  into 
the  house. 

"Honor,  what  kind  of  an  apple-cart 
have  you  upset  now?"  her  brother 
demanded,  stepping  to  her  with  his 
uneven  gait. 

She  smiled  at  him,  white  still.  "  Did 
you  see  ?  Wasn't  he  gorgeous  ?  It  was 
hard  as  death — but  he  wouldn't — be 
tray — the  Mannering  word.  Oh,  Eric, 
it  is  good  to  feel  proud  of  him,"  and 
she  finished  under  her  breath — "for 
once." 

"It  is"  Eric  agreed  soberly.  "It  will 
make  over  his  life  to  help  the  coun 
try,  like  the  others — grandfather  and 
such.  I  can't  see  how  you  dared 
dream — "  And  then  he  caught  her  by 
the  shoulder.  "But,  Honor — you've 
thrown  away — your  career."  He 
gripped  her  so  that  it  hurt.  She 

[61] 


HER  COUNTRY 

swayed  a  bit,  standing  facing  him, 
looking  into  his  eyes  almost  on  a 
level. 

"Don't  you  suppose — I  realize?" 
She  gasped  the  words.  "It's  been 
coming — I've  been — fighting  against 
it.  I — I  love — my  country." 

With  that  she  slid  from  his  hand  and 
tumbled  in  a  heap,  and  the  pink  and 
red  roses  splashed  about  her.  "Oh, 
Eric —  Oh,  you're  such  a  donkey — " 
she  sobbed,  with  her  face  in  her 
hands.  "Listening  to  you — your 
speeches — going  right  to  my  heart 
— these  weeks !  Oh — you  idiot,  don't 
pull  my  hair  down !  And  me  just 
human.  What  did  you  think  I  was 
— cold  boiled  fish  ?  Oh,  Eric — I  adore 
you  so — and  that  voice  of  yours  gets 
right  through — everything.  Selfish 
ness,  and  ambition,  and — and  pig- 

[62] 


HER  COUNTRY 

gishness — it's  all  no  use.  You're  such 
a — a  horrid  saint.  I  ham  to — do  as 
you  say.  And  Eric — darling  old  Eric 
— it's  mostly  on  account  of  my  chil 
dren,  anyhow." 

"Your  children!"  the  astounded 
Eric  managed  to  put  in  there,  and 
both  went  off  into  shrieks  of  mad 
laughter. 

"You  awful  stupid,"  the  girl  sobbed 
through  laughing.  "You  said — they'd 
ask  what  we'd  done — to  make  the 
world  safe — to  help  America.  And  I 
won't  have  any  upstarts  of  children 
— taunting  me — that  I — I  didn't  buy 
Liberty  Bonds.  So — so  I'm  going  to 
put  in  every  penny — and  then  I'll 
throw  it  in  their  old  teeth — and  I 
hope  it'll  break  'em." 

'*  Honor,"  spoke  young  Eric,  and 
caught  his  breath  to  speak.  "Honor, 

[63] 


HER  COUNTRY 

you're  the  sweetest  and  finest  thing 
in  the  world,  and  I'm  prouder  to  be 
your  brother  than  of  anything  on 
earth."  And  Honor  knew  that  no 
voice  to  come  in  life  would  ever  sound 
sweeter  in  her  ears  than  her  brother's 
as  he  said  the  words. 

Later,  when  the  two  had  taken  in 
hand  the  new  situation,  Eric,  his  arm 
about  his  sister's  shoulders,  sitting 
beside  her  on  the  grass  of  the  old  gar 
den,  spoke.  "  There's  a  thing  I  want 
to  tell  you,  Honor,  but  I  hate  to  for 
fear  it  may  bother  you." 

"What?" 

"Mclvor  is  coming." 

"  Here  ?— Mclvor  ?  The  Mclvor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  finish  up  the  Liberty  Loan 
campaign.  He's  to  sing  in  St.  Mar 
garet's  Square,  in  the  open,  the  night 
of  the  27th.  It's  thought  his  voice  will 

[64] 


HER  COUNTRY 

be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  of  sub 
scriptions." 

Honor  began  sucking  her  thumb 
violently;  the  boy  had  seen  her  do 
that  in  moments  of  stress  from  baby 
hood.  Then  she  suddenly  stopped 
and  whistled.  "Whew !  I  hate  it 
like  anything — his  coming.  He  said 
I  wouldn't  get  anywhere,  and  I 
haven't.  It's  two  years.  And  now  I 
won't  ever.  Well — likely  he  won't 
remember  a  word  about  me.  But  I 
want  to  hear  him.  Can  you  get  me 
a  place,  Eric?" 

"You  bet  I  can,"  pronounced  Eric. 
"I'm  the  chairman  of  the  committee 
on  arrangements,  and  if  you  don't 
have  the  best  seat  in  the  whole 
blamed  show,  I'll  eat  my  hat.  Mr. 
Barron  had  me  made  chairman — he's 
getting  Mclvor  to  come,  of  course." 

[65] 


HER  COUNTRY 

"The  old  fox,"  commented  Honor. 
"And  never  peeped  to  me." 

'( 'Fraid  you'd  be  sore,  and  it  might 
put  you  off  singing  for  meetings," 
explained  Eric. 

"Men  are  silly,"  Honor  reflected  as 
to  that.  "Mclvor  was  right  and  I'm 
wrong,  but  does  Mr.  Barron  think  I 
can't  take  my  medicine,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"You're  a  game  sport,  Honor,  be 
sides  being  a  peach  of  a  girl,  and  I'm 
certain  you'll  be  the  best  singer  on 
earth  yet.  That's  what,"  Eric  assured 
her  impressively. 

Saturday  night,  in  early  June,  came 
off  warm  and  clear,  and  the  square 
where  towered  the  court-house  and 
the  cathedral  and  the  library  was 
turned  into  an  out-of-doors  audi 
torium,  streaming  with  the  colors  of 
the  Allies.  A  platform  gay  with  flags 

[66] 


HER  COUNTRY 

stretched  across  the  huge,  pillared, 
gray  stone  of  the  court-house,  and 
down  in  front  of  it  were  two  thousand 
seats.  From  every  side  streets  led  into 
the  square;  these  spaces,  it  was  hoped, 
would  also  fill  with  people,  drawn  by 
the  famous  singer,  and  inspired  by  his 
singing  to  subscribe  to  the  Liberty 
Loan.  The  arrangements  had  been 
worked  out  in  every  detail,  so  that 
the  sequence  slipped  like  oiled  ma 
chinery.  At  seven  o'clock  Henry  Bar- 
ron  went  to  the  train  at  the  head  of 
a  committee  to  meet  the  great  man. 

"It's  too  good  to  be  true,  Mac," 
said  Barron,  seizing  the  big  figure 
stepping  from  the  Pullman  car.  "It's 
wonderful  of  you  to  help  us " 

"In  the  name  of  mercy,  Henry,  shut 
up,"  answered  Mclvor,  and  Mr.  Bar 
ron  and  the  committee  behind  him 

[67] 


HER  COUNTRY 

jumped  and  stood  horror-struck.  For 
the  cryptic  words  that  came  from  the 
singer,  the  star,  the  reliance  of  the 
whole  meeting,  came  in  a  hoarse 
wheeze. 

"Mac — damn  you — "  pleaded  Bar- 
ron,  hot  and  cold  all  over. 

And  Mclvor  responded  grimly: 
"It's  so.  Had  a  tickle  in  the  wretched 
throat  when  I  started,  and  the  whole 
tunnel  caved  in  on  the  train.  Take 
me  to  Dr.  Thomas,  quick.  Maybe  the 
man  works  miracles.  It's  the  only 
chance.  The  Lord  He  knows  how 
sorry  I  am." 

A  mad  car  sped  to  the  specialist, 
and  the  specialist  did  what  science 
might — but  a  miracle  did  not  happen. 
And  the  two  thousand  seats  were 
filled,  and  the  seven  streets  which 
led  into  the  square  were  filling  with 

[68] 


HER  COUNTRY 

an  ever-swelling  crowd  eager  to  hear 
the  glorious  voice  of  the  musician 
fling  "America"  to  the  winds  of 
heaven,  freely  and  without  price,  and 
for  love  of  a  great  country  and  the 
cause  of  humanity.  So  it  stood  when 
the  musician  arrived  on  the  platform. 
Flags  painted  the  evening  breeze; 
electric  lights  caught  the  colors,  and 
multiplied,  with  long  rays  and  long 
dancing  shadows,  the  flags  and  the 
thronging  multitude.  There  was  a 
hum  of  contented  voices  through  the 
square.  The  town  was  jubilant;  things 
had  gone  well;  it  was  the  greatest 
occasion  for  years;  no  other  city  could 
boast  such  an  ending  as  this  to  its 
liberty  campaign — to  have  Mclvor 
himself  journey  to  them  to  give  his 
voice  for  the  cause !  The  six  million 
of  their  allotment  would  be  raised — 

[69] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mclvor's  voice  was  worth  six  million 
in  itself.  And  still  the  crowd  came, 
and  when  Mclvor,  muffled,  appeared 
on  the  platform,  everybody  in  the 
crowd  recognized  him,  even  across 
the  uncertain  lights  and  shadows  and 
the  waving  flags  and  the  moving 
branches  of  the  elms  of  the  square. 
Applause  broke  tumultuously  from 
the  amphitheatre  of  seats,  from  the 
shifting  fringe  outside,  from  far  down 
converging  streets. 

Mclvor  stepped  sharply  forward 
and  bowed  once,  and  then,  before  the 
clapping  ended,  had  turned  and  was 
talking  to  Mr.  Barron,  to  Eric  Man- 
nering,  the  chairman  of  the  commit 
tee  on  arrangements. 

"It's  damnable,"  he  whispered. 
"You'll  have  to  tell  them,  Mr.  Man- 
nering.  I  hoped  it  might  come  back 

[70] 


HER  COUNTRY 

up  to  now,  but  it's  well  gone.  I  can 
think  of  but  one  possible  thing  to  do. 
If  there's  a  person  in  sight  who  can 
turn  a  tune  and  make  a  noise,  fetch 
him  up — and  I'll  stand  beside  him 
and  wish  luck  on  him — if  I  can.  It's 
all  I  can  do  now,"  and  he  coughed 
through  the  words. 
Eric,  thunderstruck,  stood  bewil 
dered.  What  could  one  do?  Mclvor 
was  particularly  all  the  show.  How 
might  any  other  man  substitute  for 
him?  One  could  make  a  speech  and 
explain  the  disaster  and  send  the 
workers  about  to  get  what  money 
they  could  from  a  disappointed  crowd, 
and  then  one  could  let  the  crowd  go 
home.  What  else?  Suddenly,  as  his 
eyes  stared  helplessly  into  the  rows  of 
people,  he  met  Honor's  clear  gray 
gaze  lifted.  She  had  got  a  front  seat 

[71] 


HER  COUNTRY 

as  he  had  promised.  There  she  was, 
twenty  feet  from  him.  Eric  swung 
about. 

"Mr.  Mclvor,"  he  stammered, 
"you'll  think  me  presuming  likely, 
but — my  sister  sings.  She's  young, 
but  she  has  a  big  voice." 

Mclvor's  eyebrows  drew  together, 
considering.  The  great  man  had  for 
gotten  an  incident  two  years  back. 
Yet  "any  port  in  a  storm."  "Bring 
her,"  he  coughed,  and  in  half  a  min 
ute  Eric  was  down  in  the  audience, 
bending  over  a  startled  girl.  Henry 
Barron,  as  the  brother  and  sister 
made  their  way  to  the  stage,  went 
to  the  singer  and  the  two  spoke  to 
gether  a  moment.  The  singer  looked 
curiously  at  the  young  girl  as  she 
came  to  him. 

Behind  palms  on   the   stage  they 

[72] 


HER  COUNTRY 

wrapped  the  tall  figure  in  a  flag,  and 
she  walked  forth,  another  flag  in  her 
hand,  a  young  Goddess  of  Liberty, 
lovely  enough  in  the  swaying,  dreamy 
lights  and  shadows,  with  her  fair  hair 
loose,  for  any  country's  ideal.  Mr. 
Barron  told  the  townspeople  briefly 
of  Mr.  Mclvor's  illness,  and  begged 
their  kindness  for  his  understudy. 
The  people,  after  a  moment's  startled 
silence,  were  gracious  in  their  disap 
pointment,  and  clapped,  not  over- 
heartily,  with  friendliness  the  still 
young  figure  standing  at  Mclvor's 
side.  The  band  began  softly,  suggest 
ing  the  air. 

Then  a  sudden  volume  of  sound 
soared  effortless  above  the  instru 
ments  and  flowed  across  the  packed 
square,  out  through  the  June  eve 
ning  and  out  through  the  flags  and 

[73] 


HER  COUNTRY 

overhanging  branches  of  the  trees. 
The  audience,  astonished,  forgot  to 
breathe.  Had  this  voice  gone  about 
among  them,  unknown  ?  Eric,  listen 
ing,  thought  that  he  had  never  before 
heard  his  sister  sing  at  all.  And  the 
girl  singing,  singing  from  something 
within  her  that  flamed  and  ached 
and  triumphed,  did  not  know  that 
she  lived,  was  only  a  voice  set  there 
to  pour  out  love  of  country  and  sacri 
fice  and  unending  devotion. 

"My  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing!" 

With  a  swing  as  of  one  movement 
every  person  in  the  great  place  was 
standing,  and  with  the  second  stanza 
more  than  three  thousand  voices 
emptied,  as  mountain -streams  empty 

[74] 


HER  COUNTRY 

into  a  river,  into  the  flood  of  the 
young,  tremendous  voice. 

The  strong  melody  ended  and  there 
was  silence.  In  a  second  Honor  was 
a  shy  girl  again.  Had  she  done  well 
or  ill?  Anxiously  she  turned  to 
Mclvor  at  her  side.  No  syllable  had 
come  from  him,  and  as  she  looked 
she  saw  that  tears  were  frankly  run 
ning  down  his  cheeks.  He  stared  at 
her  a  second.  "Bairn,  ye've  found 
your  soul,"  he  said,  and  bent  and 
kissed  her  hand.  And  with  that,  the 
mass  of  people  burst  into  a  storm. 

After  a  while  they  quieted,  and 
Barron,  smiling,  stepped  up  beside 
the  girl.  "Mr.  Mclvor  wishes  me  to 
tell  you,"  he  said,  and  the  crowd,  sob 
bing,  laughing,  held  its  breath  to  lis 
ten — "Mr.  Mclvor  wishes  me  to  tell 
you  that  he  thanks  God  for  his  sore 

[75] 


HER  COUNTRY 

throat,  which  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  hear  one  of  the  great  voices  of 
the  world." 

The  girl's  eyes  opened.  What  was 
this?  Was  it  Mclvor?  Was  she 
dreaming  these  impossible  words? 
She  stared  at  her  brother,  who  was 
close  to  her,  now,  looking  at  her  with 
a  face  she  had  never  seen  before. 

"Eric!" 

And  Mclvor  growled  roughly:  "Let 
my  angel  alone,  Mr.  Mannering. 
She'll  gang  her  ain  gait  now,  and  I'll 
help  her.  Bairn,  sing  'The  Star 
Spangled  Banner'?  It's  for  liberty — 
for  America — sing !" 

Into  a  hush  ten  thousand  deep  she 
sang,  and  the  audience  swayed  as  it 
stood,  and  then  rolled  into  the  chorus, 
lost  in  the  huge  psychical  storm 
which  that  young,  innocent,  great 

[761 


HER  COUNTRY 

voice  created.  Mclvor  reached  for  a 
chair  and  dropped  at  the  girl's  side, 
and  put  his  head  into  his  hands  and 
shuddered  with  emotion,  complex 
machinery  of  nerves  and  tempera 
ment  that  he  was.  But  the  wonder 
ful  voice  rang  on. 

"Oh,  long  may  it  wave," 

the  young  voice  sang,  and  Honor  shot 
up  the  flag  which  she  held — 

"Long  may  it  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 
the  brave." 

There  was,  perhaps,  no  heart  in  the 
great  place  so  tired,  so  dead,  that  it 
did  not  lift  as  on  wings  to  the  words 
and  the  voice.  The  workers  were 
among  the  shaken  people  before  the 
great  moment  ended.  The  workers 
[771 


HER  COUNTRY 

themselves  were  shaken,  all  but  cry 
ing. 

"It's  for  the  flag,  for  liberty — it's 
the  Liberty  Loan  itself.  Now's  the 
time  if  you  love  your  country." 

Such  things  the  men  said  as  they 
passed  the  paper  pledges  about,  things 
such  as  they  had  never  said  before. 
And  the  pledges  came  back,  filled 
out  generously,  like  leaves  in  a  gale. 

Mclvor  came  to  the  girl  as  she  sat, 
stupefied,  at  the  back  of  the  stage. 
"Once  more,  child.  It's  the  six  mil 
lion  sure  now,  and  we'll  get  some 
over,"  he  said.  "I've  just  heard 
about  your  bonds,  your  money — 
how  you  offered  up  your  career  for 
your  country.  And — and — "  Honor, 
flushing,  half  angry  at  Eric  who 
had  told  family  secrets,  forgave  her 
brother  because  of  that  catch-  in 

[78] 


HER  COUNTRY 

Mclvor's  words,  and  because  she 
knew  that  it  was  not  the  sore  throat 
which  choked  him  then.  "  Ye're  goin' 
to  hae  an  education  and  a  future — 
ye're  goin'  to  learn  to  sing  as  no 
American  ever  sang  before.  Ye  do 
now,"  stated  Mclvor  recklessly.  "Put 
that  thought  in  your  pipe,  and  now 
get  up,  bairn,  and  gie  'em  'The  Bat 
tle  Hymn  of  the  Republic,'  while 
they're  signing  away  their  souls.  Sing 
it  as  if  ye  were  singing  the  Germans 
out  of  New  York  harbor — as  if  ye 
were  singing  glory  to  your  country 
and  eternal  peace  into  the  universe." 
With  a  spring  she  was  on  her  feet 
and  standing  close  at  the  edge  of  the 
platform.  The  orchestra,  at  a  word, 
played  the  notes  that  were  needed: 

"Mine   eyes   have   seen   the  glory  of  the 
coming  of  the  Lord." 
[79] 


HER  COUNTRY 

The  magnificent  words  with  their 
rhythm  of  marching  armies  rolled  out 
in  the  fresh,  tremendous  tones  with 
the  new-born  soul  in  them,  with  a 
throb  in  them  not  to  be  described. 
The  voice  gathered  the  overwrought 
people  into  one  person — one  person 
who  signed  pledges  as  they  came, 
and  rejoiced  to  sacrifice  and  to  re 
nounce  for  the  dear  country,  the  be 
loved  country — great  America. 

"In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born 

across  the  sea — 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures 

you  and  me. 
Since  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die 

to  make  men  free, 
For  his  truth  goes  marching  on." 

And  in  the  depths  of  each  human 
being  in  the  great  square,  each  one 
knew,  as  we  all  know,  that  through 

[80] 


HER  COUNTRY 

dangers  and  sufferings  that  may  be 
coming,  America  is  safe — humanity 
is  safe  with  America.  Not  sorrow  or 
poverty  or  death  is  too  high  a  price 
for  American  men  and  women  to  pay 
to  safeguard  liberty,  and  the  truth 
indeed  is  marching  on. 


181] 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 

NON-RENEWABLE 


MAY  19.1J 
DUE  2  WKS  FROWST 


ItfB 


4 


[CEiVED 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000920715     0 


SOUTHERN  BRANCH; 

DIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

LIBRARY, 


ANGEL 


Universi 

South* 

Libr<r 


